


The Good, The Bad and The Klingon

by The_Norsiest



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Bruises, Canon-Typical Violence, Chapurah, Cuts, Drinking, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Spock, M/M, Mutual Pining, Outlaws, Religious Conflict, Religious Persecution, Romance, Saloons, Slow Burn, Train Robbery, Western, corsets, gun slinging, mentions of a beating, spirk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:00:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23597989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Norsiest/pseuds/The_Norsiest
Summary: TOS Western Au, do i need to say more? (I really should)When man on the run James T. Kirk comes upon a Vulcan mission and discovers a tragedy commonplace in the wild west he feels compelled to help. What ensues thereafter is a tale of rough riding, gun slinging and a love that develops between two lonely souls.Excerpt: "There was no smoke from fires, no sounds of prayer, and no signs of life he observed as he brought the horse to a halt. The large wooden gates creaked on their iron hinges, not closed but not fully open. The place was eerily quiet. Kirk reached out a hand and pushed the door, opening it to reveal the courtyard. The bells high in their steeple swayed in the rough wind but not enough to chime, and Kirk’s eyes went wide to the sight before him..."
Relationships: Christine Chapel/Nyota Uhura, James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 76
Kudos: 47





	1. I feel

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to itwasadarkandstormynight for giving me the title for this fic and to nursejackiechan for editing.

GOLD!

“There’s gold in those hills!” Written across every paper from Calhoun to Maine. Gold! They would exclaim; enough to feed the tired, the weary, and the brave. Gold to extend one’s life with miracle cures and adventure enough in the mountains to make you feel young and hopeful again. There was gold enough to build ten thousand mansions with marble floors and ivory decor. To fill with copper and silver and waste them all because you had time and money to spare. Gold abound, Gold above, Gold below, and Gold enough by the grace of God to make one’s mark upon the west so it would echo for generations to come. Yes, my friends, there was gold out there in California! But only for those lucky enough to find it. 

It brought them in droves, the immigrants, the poor, and the fortune seekers. The people who simply had nothing and therefore had nothing to lose. They came from Washington, by way of trains. They came from Kansas by way of the trail. Had they wings they would have flown, falling from the sky like rocks when exhaustion overtook them. And so many did descend from their wagons, from illness and disease; they tumbled out and found their lives, the ones they were seeking to make better, end upon the ground then and there. Little markers left by the tracks carved into the dirt from their carriages. Observed with solemn reverence before hats were repositioned and the caravans marched on.

Not everyone would find riches or make a better living, and when at last the gold rush ended the landscape of California found its natural beauty blotted with the desperate and the wild. Those tough enough to call it home would be stronger for the remark and blessed with the beautiful views of what the west, the great frontier, had to offer.

...and so it happened that when a group of nomads stumbled upon an abandoned Spanish Catholic mission they would make it their own. No one was sure what had happened to the previous tenants of the building and it seemed illogical to speculate. Instead, the order known as Vulcan replaced the crucifixes but kept the candles with their dignified and sensible use. They traded the hard benches for mats and cushions better suited for meditation. The confessional converted quite practically into storage and the black robes were not wasted when discovered in the closets. Their humble (and itchy) fabric suited the new residents. 

Spock’s hands folded neatly in his lap contrasted with the darkened vestments. Moreover, he himself seemed a contradiction from his surroundings. The white stucco walls of the cathedral so many admired, Spock instead found imposing. The very nature of such a thought indicative of the reason he now took solace here before the statue of Surak. 

The man of dark features and long face knelt before the altar. His head bowed in deep prayer; he seemed almost as still as the stone before him. Only his mouth moved in a silent recital of his teachings. His mind concentrated on the repentance for the emotions he had failed to rectify within himself. 

He sighed, opening his eyes to look up upon the effigy. What was once a calming figure now filled him with so many questions of his faith. He needed Surak’s guidance now more than ever before. “I simply feel,” he said, as if the very word were a betrayal of his faith,“that I do not belong here. As if my place is somewhere else.” he thought aloud to the father of logic, “As if I am meant to be… to be by someone-” a sound caught the pious man’s attention and he rose to his feet to address the oncoming intrusion.

Pedro’s footsteps fell heavy on the terracotta stone leading up to the entrance of the church. He threw open the wooden doors in a hurried, rather anxious fashion, the rapid pace he used to rush up to the older monk indicating his discomposure, 

“Spock!” he exclaimed urgently “We have to-” 

Spock held up a hand for silence. “Please Pedro, we must always calm ourselves in matters of excitement and remain masters of our emotions.” 

“Yes, but you see there is-” 

“One must always be diligent in this, as any stimulus can agitate and make us falter in our practice.” The dark eyes did not condemn but encouraged the other to reconsider his approach.

Pedro could be forgiven. He was still young and new to the parish. Unlike those born into the order he did not have the genetic mark of pointed ears which had often made the group ostracized; a target for misplaced fear and superstition. He had been one of the few that saw the value in a life led without emotions. One who would cut their hair and adron the robes in favor of a more logical life. Amid the foolish and illinformed the Vulcans would sometimes find such people, never pressing their faith on others, but always welcoming those who treated them fairly, despite how… alien, they seemed.

The young man took Spock’s words to heart. He inhaled deeply and allowed his exhale to be slow and deliberate. Again deep breath in, and again controlled breath out. “As Surak teaches us,” he chanted, regaining his sobriety. 

“Very good” Spock commended. “Now, what has you so distraught that you forgot your lessons?” he asked. 

Pedro looked at his elder with sedate expression. “We need to leave, brother Spock. Kor and the Klingon gang are nearly at the gates. They wish only for our deaths. They arrive on horses which will certainly be faster than our feet. They have guns where we have no protection to speak of. If we do not leave soon I calculate that we shall all perish in horrible and unspeakable ways…” 

A flash of urgency crossed Spock’s face. “Then let us hurry, for it is logical.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know starting a chapter fic can be daunting when it's unfinished. While I haven't written it I have plotted out my story. 
> 
> It's quarantine and I've got nothing better to do :)


	2. Nothing but tribble

The west, the wild frontier. The journey that promised paradise. Some men on missions to explore new realms, to seek out new lives and new advancement. Bold men desiring to set foot where no one had done so before. Some men were like that; some men like the cowboy who forged his own trail through the Sierra Nevada Valley; a paradise of craggy mountains and thick forests which gave way to prairies. That was to say, some men like Kirk. 

After a long day’s ride a campfire crackled to life. Near enough a grove of oaks to be concealed by their enormous trunks, but far enough away to still see the turning sky. He pulled the leather bound papers from his satchel and turned almost to the back of the bindings. 

“Star date” he mused, looking up to the heavens; the first sparkle of the distant suns had begun to dot the sky. He smiled, turning to his horse, “sounds silly doesn’t it?” The grey mare gave a low winny in response as she munched along the grass. 

He wanted to have the words before he pressed lead to paper. The tattered journal in his hands was far too meaningful to sully with just any old thing, but if he waited too long he’d lose the light. The oil lamp wasn’t so dim that he couldn’t continue, but Jim already felt the strain of his eyes as dusk began to settle in. Best to keep it short. 

_October 12th, 1866_

_It’s been two weeks since I left Los Barcos_

Kirk paused in his writing and looked off for a moment. “Left is a bit generous. Forced out is more like it.” but he kept that bit off the page. 

_October 12th, 1866_

_It’s been two weeks since I left Los Barcos. I was hoping to be a little further north by now but my supplies are running low. I know of a little town up ahead, small but friendly, and there’s a certain good doctor who owes me a drink or two._

_If I need a place to rest along the way I’ll drop by the Vulcan mission on route. I’ve never been before but folks around here say they’re an honest and helpful sort._

“And odd,” he spoke aloud. Or at least that’s what he was told. Solemn people with straight faces. They took no joy in life, but also no anger or sorrow. There was something to admire about those who wouldn’t raise their arms or voices against another man, but for Kirk, there was also something suspicious about those who wouldn’t take pleasure in what life had to offer. “Then again, who am I to judge,” Jim commented, his horse paying him no mind as she continued with her dinner. 

Kirk looked down at the page and reread his words as the light around him continued to fade. It was hardly poetry, but it would have to do. 

He settled in for the night, regretting where he’d made camp as he kicked aside acorn after acron. Each time Jim thought he’d cleared the area he’d lay down to find another one of the hard seeds jabbing into his shoulder. When he rolled, as he often did during slumber, he'd find a new patch of the darn things and resolved to lay on his back which already ached from his travels. And after Kirk did manage to doze off into slumber he was struck, not once, nor twice, but five times on the head when the branches above dropped a few more of the little menaces. 

As a result, when Jim got up the next day he was half asleep but also half relieved to be leaving the campsite. He shook out his blanket only to see dozens of the acorns fly through the air and tap against the ground as they landed. “Nothing but tribble” he mumbled, then stopped “trouble,” he corrected. Apparently more exhausted than he’d thought. 

Searching through his bags Jim realized just how low on supplies he had been. Out of food and barely a handful of coffee beans left. He sighed, donning his hat and mounting his horse. Maybe that mission would be kind enough to offer him a hot meal. Reins in hand, the man steered his horse and with a few clicks of the tongue the mare moved on as she was guided.


	3. The specter

James T. Kirk always trusted his intuition…

You had to when out on the trail. It was like the time he’d known to steer clear of a rock face, hearing the telltale sound of a snake’s rattle as he passed by. Like when he’d been on his way to the saloon one night in Albuquerque. Something, some uneasy notion just told him to turn round. He did so with gun at the ready and confronted the two figures who’d been following him in the dark, ready to rob him, to kill him if necessary. Kirk hadn’t given them the chance. It was also like last June, when his gut had told him that Juanita had been lying, not because she wanted to, but because she’d been forced to, knowing her lover Ricardo would pay the price if she didn’t. He’d felt the lie in her kiss, his intuition leading him to guide both of them safely out of Little Rock before her brother had time to gun any of them down. 

After a while he’d stopped questioning it. If his gut was talking, Jim was listening. 

So when Kirk rode over the hill and spied the little church he’d trusted his instinct. He’d never been here before, never set eyes on it, or its lodgers. They were strangers to him both in familiarity and custom, yet every fiber of his being was telling him that something here was wrong. With a loud ‘yah’ he urged his horse forward into a full gallop down the slope, rushing towards this place where he knew, he just knew, he was needed. 

There was no smoke from fires, no sounds of prayer, no signs of life he observed as he brought the old girl to a halt. The large wooden gates creaked on their iron hinges, not closed but not fully open. The place was eerily quiet. Kirk reached out a hand and pushed the door, opening it to reveal the courtyard. The bells high in their steeple swayed in the rough wind but not enough to chime, and Kirk’s eyes went wide to the sight before him. 

Broken doorways and bullet holes were the second thing he noticed. Third was the way the grass had been upturned by so many horses. A torn flag at the far end made the fourth impact on his perception. Shattered water barrels, chopped haphazardly to drain them was the fifth. 

But the first? 

The first thing Kirk saw, that anyone would have seen, was the post. Erected in the yard it stood nearly ten feet high. At the top a rope had been lashed and nailed into the gouge of the pilar. The line held taught as it traced down, connecting to a pair of wrists suspended above the hanging body. 

He was still, strung up as far as his arms could reach. As tall as he was his feet lifted slightly off the ground in an excruciatingly uncomfortable manner; not allowed to rest as he stretched upwards. His head hung forward, pulling even more at the raised shoulders. He was bruised and beaten, and just barely breathing in the wake of his ordeal. 

Kirk sprang away from his horse, pulling the knife from his pocket. 

-

Spock was aware of the presence as it entered through the gates. A blurred image, a specter just beyond his ability in his weakened state to discern. Either it was the grim reaper, which he did not believe in, or one of the bandits had returned to finish him off. Whichever it was, surely it had to mean death. 

He tried to lift his head as it ran towards him like a flash and he felt lightning as the touch shivered up his arm when the ghost reached out to put a hand to his chest. Despite the intensity of the sensation, it was calming in its affect. As he realized no harm was intended he dropped his head again just before the figure started to jump several times in succession to slash at the rope, at the bonds which held him suspended. Spock felt his full weight collapse as the twisted strings gave way. Unable to stop himself, he toppled forward towards the ground, but the specter caught him, its arms wrapping around his torso and cradling him on the way down. A gentle meeting of the earth replacing the heavy impact that would have been. 

Every touch was amplified in this state. The diligent hands checking over him were reassuring on his shoulder and considerate when brushing aside his hair to look him in the eye; the gesture making them both more visible to the other. There were lips upon the phantom, they appeared to be moving… moving, he was speaking. Yes, he could hear the words but it was all Spock could do to shake his head in reply. 

The being moved away for only a moment and returned with a canteen. He put a hand behind Spock’s head and lifted. He arched him gently so that he could drink, half pulling the Vulcan man into his lap as he propped him against his leg. Never before had Spock known such a thirst as this. 

He drank deeply from the canteen, feeling water dribble out the corner of his mouth and slide down his cheek. After nearly a day and a half, to say that Spock was parched would have been an understatement. The hand guided his drinking, giving him time as he drained the canister. His throat however remained dry without the gulping of liquid to quench it. 

“P-Pedro, and the others?” he asked through scratchy voice. 

The being (though it had to be of flesh and blood, he was sure of that by now) rested the devout man back against the grass and moved off. He was gone for an indeterminate amount of time, leaving Spock to focus on his breathing; his muscles aching with the simple effort to do so. 

The man came back and bent down over him, his tone of voice was soothing, but his words were not. “There’s no one else here. No one alive or dead except you” and Spock felt somewhere in between, neither living nor taken by death. 

“My brothers…” He exhaled. He felt his eyes, his lids, grow heavy as they began to close. The man, whoever he was, with a strong jaw and soft stare, would be the last thing Spock saw before he lapsed into unconsciousness.


	4. Little town called Enterprise

Spock dreamed of many things while he slept. He dreamt of the ground flashing past his vision under the clopping of horses hooves. He dreamt of a hand firmly pressing against his back, keeping him steady in his position as he was thrown across the mare in front of her rider. So real was the feeling of the horn of the saddle digging into his side with every bump and jostle of the journey. If it had been real it only lasted for a moment as Spock willed his mind to fade back into the blackness as he tried to block out the pain. 

He dreamed of the stop and the shouting of his rescuer as he sought assistance. Of hands reaching up and carrying him into a building. A scent he didn’t quite recognize filling his nostrils, perhaps a mix of herbs, whiskey and… pomade? He dreamt of having foul tasting medicine shoved into his mouth and of water being poured down his gullet. There was the vaguest sensation of a bed, soft and comforting as his body hit it. The mattress letting him know he no longer had to fight his fatigue. 

Safe, the only word that echoed through the blurry dream. A voice kind and caring telling him he was safe now. Spock dreamed of that voice. He dreamed of the man who had spoken those words to him. He dreamed of the face which held hazel eyes and the head full of dark blond hair. A face filled with concern and offered a sense of protection. Not that Spock would recall these dreams when he awoke and yet, he would still expect to see that face upon opening his eyes. 

It was not however the face he was greeted with. 

Hours had passed into night and night had turned into day. Spock awoke the next morning to the feeling of his abdomen being pushed on and probed. A large bruise had formed over the area and someone was smearing him with a salve. It took some effort but the Vulcan man opened his eyes slowly as he adjusted to the light. 

The face which greeted him was worn with wrinkles, streaking across his forehead, and bags heavy beneath his eyes. Yet his eyes were sharp, piercing blue and focused as he administered treatment to his patient. He wore a frown most suited to his demeanor as he held a certain degree of worry for the man on the bed. He turned, noticing the other had roused from sleep at last. “You’re awake” he observed with a small smile. 

“That is quite obvious.” Spock countered, and just as quickly as the smile had risen to the man’s face it fell away. 

“Right” he grumbled “just try not to move till I’m done.” 

A few quiet moments passed as Spock obeyed the instruction. He watched patiently as the man finished his treatment of the bruise and moved on to spread the salve over his wrists. The marks left by the ropes still apparent from where they’d dug into his skin. There was a bandage wrapped around his arm from the cut he had sustained when the bandits had pushed him against the stone wall; a rough edge catching and slicing through his skin. The bandage was removed, the cut treated and new trimmings were applied. 

Once he was done Spock questioned “May I ask where I am or who you are?” Though he did not ask what he really wanted to know; where was the man who’d saved him? 

“You’re in a little town called Enterprise” came the easy reply “and I’m McCoy, doctor McCoy.” he couldn’t stress that enough. The words fell from his mouth in an accent more common to the southern states “Though some just call me Leonard and others call me-”

“Bones” the cheery face of Spock’s savior called as he entered the room. 

Spock immediately sat up, regretting his decision to do so instantly as the spasm in his muscles came on. He succeeded in not uttering a call of pain and leaning heavily on the pillows behind him. It was only now that the pious man realized he’d been stripped of his robes, covered only by the quilt that pulled up to his waist. Meaning he was fully bare beneath it. The doctor had obviously inspected him thoroughly the night before. 

The room was small with the bed pressed up in the left corner. It had only one window. A dresser stood on the opposite wall where the man had entered and a large chair, far too cumbersome for the size of the living space rounded off the rest of the meager furniture. It only took a couple of steps for the man to reach McCoy as he offered him one of the two cups of coffee he carried. 

“And I’m Jim” Kirk said in response to the question yet to be asked. “James T. Kirk.” 

“Spock” Spock offered. 

McCoy moved over to sit in the large chair and Spock noted he had an odd way of sitting. One leg hung down properly but the other was hiked up to allow his foot to rest against the seat. His knee leaning at an angle. Though he seemed content in this position and drank, savoring the bitter beverage. 

“That’s an unusual name,” Kirk said, more curious than accusing. He offered up the second cup of coffee to the man on the bed. 

Spock shook his head. It wasn’t just that he prefered tea but he did not wish to take what had not been intended for him. The cowboy was more likely to need the caffeine than he did. 

“It is not so unusual for my people,” he countered.

“Your people?” Kirk asked, finding a place to stand by the dresser. He leaned against it as he cradled the drink in his hand. 

“Vulcan is a belief and a people” Spock began to explain “We believe that our every action and thought should be guided by logic and that there should be an absence of emotion. In some ways it is like any religion. We follow the teachings of Surak, our forefather who wrote out our doctrine. Some are like myself” he said, hinting at his features; the dark hair and pointed ears. “Though some convert” his mind drifted to Pedro who’d only been a member of the order for a few months. Spock looked off as he wondered what had happened to the young man whom he’d been in charge of. 

“Suppressing emotion” the doctor shook his head, coming back to the conversation. “Denying feelings? No offense Spock but y’all sound a little nutty if you ask me.” 

Spock tilted his head just a fraction “I did not ask you doctor.” and McCoy looked taken aback by the comment. 

Jim tried to hide the smile spreading across his face behind the cup. His eyes, for a moment darted across the bare form of the man on the bed. The blanket had shifted and part of Spock’s hip was exposed. It might have been a tempting sight if not for the bruise so obvious across it. Jim looked down. “The mission. Spock what happened out there? When I found you...” his voice trailed off as he looked over the man again. 

Spock felt seen in a way he never had before. Not merely in body but also in self, as if Kirk could see through him. “Kor” he started “and the outlaw gang of his. For reasons I do not graps they’ve been attacking smaller towns within our vicinity. Our parish offered aid to them after they were robbed. It would appear the bandit did not approve of our interference.” 

There was a quiet moment as he finished. “Your people sound quite kind Mr. Spock '' Jim offered. 

A prickle came to the Vulcan man’s ears at this phrasing of his name. He did not understand why he desired to hear it again. He shook his head “We only do what is logical.” he stated simply.

Kirk smiled at that. It was a pleasing thing to behold.

“I should return” he added, trying to keep hold of the blanket and rise from the bed. The pain as he attempted to move was not so bad as before. Perhaps because the salve had worked its way into his muscles. 

“Easy” the doctor said, moving over to his patient “You’re still in poor shape.” 

A sense of propriety ran through kirk and he reached for the clothing he’d set aside. When Spock was at last sitting up he placed the pile in his lap, leaning over as he did so and catching those darkened eyes with his own for only a moment before the man looked down to the soft fabric. 

“We’ll leave you to it.” McCoy said, gently pushing Kirk out of the room. Both of them giving privacy to Spock so he could change. 

Spock wondered silently if these were all Jim’s clothes. The light red shirt was soft to the touch. Undoubtedly worn many times across the broad shoulders of the cowboy. The faded pair of jeans had once been rolled on the leg to accommodate the shorter man. A belt, boots and clean undergarments rounded out the gift. And while he refrained Spock had the illogical urge to bring the clothing up to his face and breath in the scent that lingered.


	5. Sullied reputations

The saloon wall was lined with an assortment of bottles and liquors. Some were cheap, designated for the drunks, the ones who could barely pay down their tab before the work week ended and they stumbled back in to rack up more debt. Some were finer, imported from distant places and kept higher on the shelves. The doctor’s private collection was kept lower in the cupboard to be out of sight from the average patron. Only a few hands were allowed to touch it and even fewer allowed to indulge. Not that Bones would care if Uhura had some, or if she decided to dole it out on someone she found worthy, which was something that never happened. 

The bartender, left alone in the doctor’s absence, made her rounds about the room. The drunkard Larry was passed out by the piano, slumped down against the floor after his third bottle of whiskey. There was a table of four playing a game of poker, passing through town with nothing better to do with their time but gamble and light cigars, a cloud of smoke around them having built up the whole day. 

Uhura was busy pouring another round for the miners, their faces still coated with soot and only their pink lips exposed when Christine entered. They were upturned in smiles as they celebrated the line of gold they’d struck only hours earlier. One of them reached out and grabbed Uhura by the hip, staining her red corset with his dirty hand print. Uhura gave him a warning look that went unnoticed. She wrapped her leg around his chair leg while grounding with the other. In one swift move the miner found himself flat on the floor to the uproar of laughter from his friends. 

Christine stood by the bar and tried not to watch. She was close enough to hear the crass jokes and Uhura’s fake laugh in reply. It was disheartening to hear, especially when she knew the real one. Oh how she loved the way her face would lift when she was truly happy and her voice would ring out with cheeriness that would make the angels swoon. Or at least Christine would. The devout schoolmarm tried not to look as the barkeep made her way back to the counter, swaying her hips in the way only she could do. Her red and black skirt concealing the black heels she wore beneath. 

“What can I get you Christine?” She asked. 

Christine’s face instantly flushed. Uhura was known to call people by many charming words, honey, darling, sugar, but when she liked the person she used their real name. At least that was what Chapel told herself as she rang her gloved hands together against the counter. “I don’t want anything Uhura. I just… just came to talk is all.” She half expected to be dismissed but Uhura put down her bottle and turned to give the woman her full and undivided attention. 

The corset made for a very lovely view as Uhura placed her forearms against the bar and leaned in closer, ready to hear this ‘talk’ from her friend; unfortunately already knowing where this was going. It wasn’t the woman’s figure that caught Christine off guard as much as it was her smile that left the schoolmarm looking away and fumbling for her words. “It’s just…” Chapel started timidly “aren’t you tired of serving drunks?” she asked, glancing towards the table of men whooping loudly and clinking their glasses. 

Ever composed Uhura didn’t allow her vexation of having to hear this lecture for the fifth time change the sweetness of her voice. “And what would you have me do instead?” her hand slid forward on the countertop, beautifully brown fingers growing closer to their gloved counterparts. She held them, just an inch away in the hopes that the other would respond the way they both knew she wanted to. 

Chapel’s face turned even more scarlet in tone, almost matching Uhura’s clothing. “Well I-” she felt her voice catch in her throat, once again looking away. They’d played this game so many times before. The saloon girl would reach out to the prim and proper lady, always demanding to be met halfway but so far always being let down by the other’s modesty. The hands lingered there for a moment before Christine withdrew her own off the bar and placed them in her lap. 

Uhura stopped leaning against the bar and stood up straight. “You seem to forget” she said, not allowing herself to sound cold “That some of us don’t have as many opportunities as you.” The moment having passed between them was overshadowed by a call from the poker players demanding their glasses be filled. “Best run along now. Wouldn’t want to sully that fine reputation of yours.” 

This time Chapel’s face reddened, not in longing, but in shame. 

Uhura grabbed the bottle of gin from behind her and moved off to the table. Christine hopped down from the bar stool and smoothed out her dress. It was the blue one with white dots, long sleeves, and high collar. Even in mild or warm weather she remained as covered as possible. Her mother had insisted upon it growing up and it was a habit she had failed to break. 

She tried not to look over as she moved towards the door. Her hand pressed against her stomach where knots had begun to form. She hoped she hadn’t crossed Uhura too very much. Hoped that she’d be welcome back in the next time she ventured to converse. She wanted to talk to her again, about everything, about anything, from the weather outside to the news of the world and ask about Uhura’s day. She would pray for the strength to just listen rather than judge. Her hand on the door, she couldn’t help but turn her blue eyes towards the woman, and they were met with the large brown ones of Nyota’s who looked longingly at her as she left. 

\---

It was a short walk from the Inn to the saloon as the two buildings were built side by side. The good doctor carried his medical bag as he and Jim flanked either side of Spock. He was moving slowly but with each step he appeared to be gaining more composure. If that was due to Bone’s medical treatment or sheer stubborn will, neither could be sure.

Once inside the saloon McCoy darted behind the bar and pulled one of his personal bottles of bourbon from the hidden shelves. Three glasses were poured and two were pushed over to his compatriots. “Consider it a prescription.” He noted before taking a swig of his own. 

Jim savored the aroma before taking a sip and Spock merely raised a brow. “A doctor who prescribes poison?” he questioned. 

McCoy couldn’t help the small smile that came to his face. “That’s right I’m a doctor, but I’m also a bartender.” he started pouring another glass for himself. “I’m also the town barber. I’m an undertaker, a handyman, a taxidermist, a dentist, an innkeeper” the liquid reached the the top and he plopped down the bottle before raising his glass “and from time to time I’ve been known as a pianist” he brought the glass to his mouth before he frowned and stated firmly “But I am NOT a bricklayer!” Then he downed his drink with relish. 

Spock crossed his arms and stared at the cup before him. It wasn’t that he couldn’t drink, but he often found such activities served no logical purpose. Out of the corner of his eye he watched as Kirk pressed the glass to his lips and took his time savoring the flavor of the liquor. When he started to cough due to the power of the alcohol Spock merely pushed the glass back towards McCoy. 

“You know, I’d think any other man who’d been strung up and left for dead would be eager for a stiff drink” McCoy countered, taking the glass for himself as he didn’t want the stuff to go to waste. 

“My God” Uhura breathed as she came round “You poor thing.” she reached over and pulled the glass away from Bones. He gave her an incredulous look but she responded with one of her own warning glares and he relented. 

“I do not desire your pity.” Spock replied softly “I only wish to find my brothers… if in fact they are still alive.” 

None of them wanted to consider it. There had to have been at least two dozen monks at the parish. To think all of them had been led out into the desert and… it was unthinkable. “Why do you suppose they’d capture them?” Kirk asked, mind trying to solve the puzzle.

“It is beyond me to speculate.” Spock offered with no help “They simply said I would serve as a warning to anyone that might come upon our mission.”

“If they realize you’re not dead they might come looking for you.” Kirk speculated for him. 

McCoy shook his head “Either way you’ll want to report it to the sheriff.”

For a fraction of a moment Kirk tensed at the word. He shifted in his seat and tried to conceal his reaction by downing the rest of his drink. He hoped no one would notice. “If it’s Kor and his gang you might need to call in the marshalls” he observed.

Bones agreed “You two should go file a report. I’ll go back and get a couple of rooms ready. No sense in you sleeping out in the cold, even if you can’t pay” he gestured to the monk. It wasn’t likely a man of the cloth, any cloth, would have much in the way of finances. 

“That is very generous of you, Doctor” Spock said and McCoy seemed to soften at the first compliment he’d been given by the Vulcan man. “I had not considered you capable.” And again the friendliness was lost. 

Uhura finished putting away the glasses. Kirk touched the brim of his hat to address her “Ma’am”. He and Spock made their way to the door. 

“Oh doctor, I forgot to mention” she said “The Jonnasons had a change in their plans, they’ll be staying an extra week.”

McCoy called for Jim and both men paused at the exit. “If that’s the case I’m afraid there’s only one room left, the one I had him in.” 

Kirk turned to Spock as the realization dawned on both of them. They’d have to share, and what was more they’d both been in the small quarters only minutes ago. It wasn’t just that they’d be sharing a room. Unless one or the other decided to take up a place on the floor… there was only one bed. They both locked eyes for a moment before Jim turned back to McCoy. 

Kirk cleared his throat, “I think we can manage.” And they both slipped out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of 4/26 I have completed four more chapters. However I need time to edit. I'm also dealing with some unexpected stress in my life due to the pandemic. I hope you're all doing well and I promise I'll get some more distracting chapters out for you as soon as possible!


	6. A sheriff and his deputy

The little jail was nothing more than two cells, partially hidden behind a stone wall and an open room for use as an office. There was a single desk, a coat hanger, and a stove to keep the place warm on cold nights. It had once been kept haphazard, a complete mess back when it was run by another sheriff, but that was years ago. Sulu of course kept it organized and clean. 

On the far wall was an up to date list of wanted posters which covered the expanse next to the window, tacked in place and alphabetized for easy consultation. He was meticulous to say the least but the town had never had a more efficient lawman guarding over it. 

If the sheriff had one vice, which was known throughout the area, it was the game of Darts; named of course for the projectiles that soared through the air to land against a board marked with numbers to indicate the points. Or at least that was the usual set up. A grouping of wanted posters with faces of bandits, outlaws, and murderers now circled the dart board. Several of the little missiles punctured through the paper and stuck to the wooden wall. There were some holes just outside of the circle from the few (very few as Sulu would tell you) times in which the sheriff had missed his mark. 

Today the darts stayed stationary in their little cup as he rummaged through the desk. The rustling of papers filled the office as Sulu pushed them aside before the thump echoed from the slamming of the last drawer, closed in frustration. “Chekov!” he bellowed. 

The young deputy of fluffy brown hair and soft eyes peered cautiously around the corner, broom still in hand from where he’d been tending to the chore of keeping that jail clean. “Yes sir?” he asked warily, knowing that tone all too well. 

The Sheriff was rubbing the bridge of his nose, a bad sign “Would you care to explain to me what happened to my mail?” Sulu asked. He only kept letters in one of two places and it wouldn’t be the first time the younger man had moved something without his authorization. 

“Your mail, sir?” Chekov asked, giving a nervous laugh.

Sulu’s voice carried a warning cadence “My mail, deputy.” 

Chekov wrung his hands around the broom handle and cleared his throat. “Well you see sir… it’s a funny story actually…” The sheriff’s face, however, was void of amusement. “I... well I hadn’t realized it was ‘new’ mail, sir. I thought it was the old mail. The letters you were going to throw away.” 

“You mean this mail?” Sulu clarified as he held up the pile of papers he’d pulled from the bin. He’d taken care to search through when looking for the missing documents.  
Chekov nodded just a bit “Right sir, that mail…”

Sulu gave a sigh “Just tell me where you put my mail, deputy.”

Chekov peered down at a spot on the floor that had suddenly become fascinating before he launched into a usual diversion “Did you know that the postal service was invented in Russia?” The young man stated, trying to change the subject. “It’s a good story. You see there was this man named Tolnek-”

“Chekov-”

“And he needed to talk to his brother because his wife was-"

“Deputy!”

“-Tolnek was sure that his brother was the one who-”

“Damn it Pavel where the devil is my mail!?” Sulu’s voice boomed. 

“I burned it…”

Sulu blinked “... You what?” He asked, taking a step closer.

Chekov knew enough that Sulu would never hurt him. Still, from instinct, he backed up without thought to his actions. “Well it got cold the other night sir, and I thought they were the papers you were throwing away and I... used it as kindling to start the fire.” He flashed an awkward smile. 

“Deputy” Sulu started, his voice far calmer than either of them had expected. “One of those was the updated warrants list. The ones I had mailed to me from El Paso. There were also a set of sketches I hadn’t gotten a chance to review because I got called out to Mudd’s. Do you know I spent four hours over there just so he could try to file a false insurance claim for something that hadn’t been stolen?” Sulu crossed his arms, “and the other letter” he added with just a hint of aggravation “was from my mother.” 

There were a few moments of unbearable silence as the two stood face to face. Chekov thought he might have preferred yelling to the idea that he’d disappointed his friend. “I’m… I’m sorry, sir” he gripped the broom handle for another second before propping it against the wall. 

When Pavel looked up at Sulu his eyes were almost as big as those puppies’ little Casey had been toting around town three days ago. “Please don’t fire me,” he pleaded “I’ll make it right.” Chekov hurried over to the rack and grabbed his brown jacket from the hanger. “I’ll write to the city and get a new warrants list sent right away. I’ll go track down each witness and redraw new sketches!” he said with determination “Of course, I’ll have to learn to draw first” he mumbled. “I’ll personally ride to your mother’s and transcribe a letter for you” He added adamantly. 

Sulu couldn’t help but shake his head as a small grin came to his face. He reached over and put a hand on Pavel’s shoulder to stop him from springing out the door “You really would, wouldn’t you?” he asked. 

“I’ll go rent a horse right now!” Chekov offered. 

The firm hold of the man’s shoulder stopped him from leaving “Take it easy, deputy” Sulu advised, reaching up and ruffling Chekov’s hair. “No sense in all that. Just send a letter to the city to get a new list and new sketches and send an apology note to my mother.” he took a few long strides and rounded his desk, taking a seat and kicking his heels up. “You know how she worries.”

Chekov smiled before removing the jacket. He hurried over to grab a pencil and paper from the desk, already compiling the sentences in his head and headed back towards the little table in the first cell to start his writing; secure in the fact that he was no longer in trouble. 

The sheriff pulled his hat over his face as he leaned back in his chair, getting comfortable. If it hadn’t been for the long night over at Mudd’s he wouldn’t have felt so tired. The little town, after all, didn’t take much to keep it running smoothly. Sulu settled in, prepared to take a well deserved afternoon nap.  
Or at least he would have, if the two strangers hadn’t darkened his door. 

\---

Sulu tilted his head just enough to take them in. The taller one had upturned brows and a dubious expression. He held his hands behind his back, for a moment the lawman wondered if he were cuffed. The look in his eye however wasn’t one of a man being brought in to face any charges; they surveyed the sheriff with just as much consideration as he himself was being observed. His demeanor spoke of smarts, and the broad shoulders suggested some strength. His dark features, however, gave the lawman some pause which might not have come if it weren’t for the stern poker face he held, void of emotion. Sulu preferred being able to read people. 

The shorter one had a firm jaw and the beginnings of some stubble. With his fine features he’d undoubtedly broken a few hearts during his lifetime. He might have seemed like a pleasant sort of fellow, but the way he shifted in his stance and his eyes glanced around the room told Sulu a different story. When his gaze eventually landed on the wall of wanted posters the Sheriff became all too aware of the gun the blond man carried, holstered but within one second’s reach of his hand. He had a thick frame and light tan due (he guessed) to a recent journey. One look was all Sulu needed to work out just who this man was and what he was all about. He pulled his feet down from the desk just as the cowboy came forward to address him. 

“Sheriff Sulu, I presume?” 

“That’s right, now who would you be?” he shot back, not one for long introductions. 

He seemed hesitant “Kirk…” Jim said. He paused as if waiting for a reaction but none came, his eyes scanning up and down the other. “And this man here” he gestured to the taller one “Is Spock. He needs your assistance.”

Sulu came round the table before he leaned up against the front of it, his body still tired from the lack of a good night's sleep. If Mudd knew what was good for him he’d stay out of town for awhile. “What seems to be the problem?” he asked, eyeing Kirk suspiciously before turning back to Spock. 

“I wish to report the disappearance of my brothers.” he started slowly.

Sulu picked up the pad off his desk and started jotting down notes “How many” the sheriff asked. 

“Twenty three in total.”

He stopped writing and turned to look at him. “Twenty three?”

Kirk intervened “Spock is a member of the Vulcan mission. The one in the valley over the north ridge. I was passing through and came up on it. He’d been beaten, tied up, and left to the elements. You can ask McCoy if you don’t believe me. He treated him last night.”

“Should I doubt you?” Sulu asked, finding the statement a bit curious. 

At first Kirk said nothing, he simply held Sulu’s stare. Then he turned and moved over to the wall. It took a few moments to find the face that had been plastered on every board between Tijuana to Red Bluff, though Kirk only knew him by name. There amid the renderings stood a round face with toothy smile and beady eyes. “Alive or Dead” written in bold beneath the face and a sum of money far too large to sneeze at was written above. Kirk handed it to Spock. “Is this the man?”

Spock studied the image for a moment before addressing Sulu as he pointed along the drawing. “He has a scar here” he indicated to the left side of the cheek “Perhaps received after this witness gave their description. I’d estimate his hair is one and three quarters shorter now and the artist's rendering has greatly miscalculated the size of his nose.” he finished.

Sulu nodded. It wasn’t the first time someone had added the scar to the poster image, although none had been so specific about the hair. “Kor got his reputation from robbery and murder.” he gave a small sigh before changing his tone, trying to be a bit softer as he addressed the taller man. “I hate to say this but... have you considered that your brothers might be-”

“There were no bodies,” Kirk interrupted. “No blood and the storage rooms had been cleared out. All signs point to them being taken hostage.”

“Which begs the question of why” Spock ventured.

“You’ve no idea why they attacked?” Sulu questioned. 

Kirk chimed in “They’d been helping people robbed by the gang, surely that’s reason enough.” 

“Reason to kill them” Sulu cut with the harsh reality “It doesn’t explain taking a couple dozen bodies hostage and heading out into the wilderness. They’ll want something from them, the question is what?” 

Both Kirk and Sulu turned to Spock who stood in quiet contemplation of the question at hand. Jim couldn’t help but notice the pensive way Spock was taken by his thoughts; his dark eyes deep in wonder as if he were calculating a long equation. It brought a certain charm to his features as he furrowed his brow, as if that’s the way he was meant to be seen, trying to put together the mystery, solve a problem, and wonder at the science of the universe. All too quickly Kirk was struck by how serious the situation was and he shook his mind free from the study of Spock’s face. There was a time and place for noticing people and it wasn’t here or now. 

“If it’s all the same to you, gentlemen” Sulu's voice commanding as he spoke, “I’d like to see the mission for myself, get a sense of what happened and search the area.”  
“That would be a logical course of action” Spock commended. 

Sulu called for his deputy to get the horses. Kirk and Spock agreed to go with him and headed out of the jail in favor of readying their own saddles. As Jim crossed the threshold he heard Sulu call after him, his voice forcing him to turn round. “Let’s get something straight, Kirk” the sheriff said, swaggering up to the man “I don’t take kindly to bounty hunters in these parts. At least not ones that think they’re above the law… do we understand each other?” 

The misunderstanding creeped over Kirk’s mind. Between the way he’d looked at the posters and found Kor’s so quickly, the way he’d marched in with Spock, stiff and shifty as if about to turn a man in for crimes of a dastardly nature... It had obviously made an impression. Jim didn’t feel the need to correct Sulu. He just nodded. “I’ll be sure to stay out of your way.” he offered before leaving the office and heading back out into the bright sun.


	7. One Horse

When Christine left the bar, she had gone to the church to pray for guidance. When she heard about the plight of the monk, she had returned home and prayed for him to receive help where he sought it. When she was informed through town gossip that sheriff Sulu and deputy Chekov were going out to the mission, she had prayed for their safe travel. The prayers however were not so much appreciated as was the lunch she had packed for the group and brought to them before they left town. 

Out in the street Christine handed up a parcel of bread, cured meats, and some fruit to Chekov who smiled down at her, eyeing the hearty meal. “Don’t eat it all before noon” she chided the younger man who stuffed the bundle into his pack.

“Miss Chapel” Sulu said, tipping his hat to her as he pulled his horse around. 

There was another movement from further down the road as a mare and two riders came closer to the group. Christine tried not to smile too much noticing the uncomfortable way the dark haired man sat behind the blond on the large horse. “You two look cozy” she teased.

She wasn’t sure if Kirk’s cheeks were brightened by the heat of the morning sun or if perhaps he had a bit of blush to his skin. He looked to the questioning Sheriff “Couldn’t find another horse.” He explained simply. 

Sulu nodded with a roll of his eye and shot a quick glance at Chekov, as if perhaps he might know that situation personally. “Well if we’re ready we might as well be on our way.” He urged his stallion forward with a little click of his tongue. 

“You be safe out there” Christine offered her words of comfort. Hats were tipped in her direction and Chekov waved. She watched as the four men headed out towards the valley with pride and purpose. She admired them, brushing off the memory of her as a younger girl wanting to play the part of ‘sheriff’ with her brothers. Of course, she hadn’t been allowed the role of a lawman because that wasn’t lady like. So the schoolmarm watched quietly with hands held in front of her as the riders disappeared into the horizon. 

A shadow stretched across the woman as she was approached from the side. Not seeing the figure from her peripheral vision, Christine half jumped as a hand was placed on her shoulder. She clutched at her chest for just a moment before her eyes spied the familiar face and she breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Marla! You startled me.” She stated, as she attempted to calm down.

Marla’s red hair was put up in a tidy bun, her well covered clothing not too dissimilar to Christine’s own chaste attire. Of course she had to be prim and proper; she had to set an example for the town, after all. That was her role, as the preacher’s wife. 

“Surely Christine I’m not someone to fear.” She said with her own smile before looking off towards the trail of dust. “I’m curious… what was that about?” She put a guiding hand around the woman, leading her back towards the buildings and out of the road, her hand gripping tightly against her shoulder. “You will tell me, won’t you?” 

\---

The mountain air was rich with the smell of pine and decaying leaves. The trees were only now starting to change in color; there were only a few sections of red, yellow, and brown that dotted the landscape. Kirk was surprised he’d missed the beauty when he’d first come through the valley, but his determination to get to the mission, as well as his determination to get Spock to McCoy, had taken his focus. 

Sulu and Chekov rode ahead, leading the way. Spock sat astride the mare behind Jim; an awkward hand on either side of the man as he attempted to give as little touch as possible to the cowboy. He fumbled a bit and apologized for the fourth time about not having his own horse. It was… endearing. 

“You can hold tighter if you’d like Mr. Spock. I wouldn’t want you to fall” Jim said, slightly amused by the other’s sense of propriety. 

“I assure you James, I can balance.” Spock replied, shifting his weight and hugging tightly with his legs. He was attempting not to focus on the way his hips nudged up against the back of Kirk’s rear in the saddle. 

“Jim, you can call me Jim, Spock. No one calls me James.” He chortled. 

Kirk pushed slightly back against the man as the mare began to head down a slope and the monk pulled one hand away to prop against her flank. He tried not to allow the other’s back to press against his front, yet that seemed an impossibility. He was swept by the heat the man provided, the chilled weather making him miss the sensation as they reached more even ground and Kirk righted himself in the saddle. 

“The evidence is starting to stack against you” Kirk teased as they passed a low hanging branch and Spock was forced to duck beneath it.  
“Evidence?” Spock asked, pushing the branch up and away from his head. 

Kirk couldn’t help the small smirk of a smile that graced his lips as he turned his head back “You’re not used to riding.” 

As Spock let go of the branch it bounced back, the leaves swatting his head and for just a moment he felt as he might lose his footing and fall from his perch. “That is quite obvious,” he noted. 

There was the smallest of hills they had to traverse before descending back down. The angle of the slope made the monk feel even more unsettled. Spock couldn’t handle it any longer. Despite his discipline and his ability to learn quickly, he just couldn’t keep riding like this. As the horse soldiered on with the weight of both passengers on her back Spock finally relented. He wrapped both his arms about Kirk’s waist and hugged tightly to keep himself where he needed to be. He could feel Kirk’s stomach beneath his hold, something soft but with obvious muscle beneath. He was comfortable, warm, and the hold itself felt right in a way he hadn’t expected. 

Kirk felt the tight embrace and it only served to brighten his smile, not that the other could see. “Alright, Mr. Spock?” he asked with a mix of amusement and concern. 

“Quite” the soft reply came from behind him and the hold remained gently across his waist for the rest of the ride. 

\---

Sulu jumped down from his horse and pulled out his pistol. The wooden gate was just as ajar as when Kirk had left it the day before. He entered cautiously and surveyed the area before motioning for the others. 

As they entered the tall post remained where it had been in the center of the yard. Kirk eyed the pillar with some semblance of disdain. He watched silently as Spock moved towards it. He stared for just a moment as if inspecting the wood, his mind no doubt on the time he had spent lashed to it thinking he would die here. 

Jim moved up to the Vulcan man who put out his hand, touching the wooden post in contemplation. His solemn expression made the cowboy wonder how someone could be so calm after such an ordeal. Left for hours on end, no food, no water and no way to move. The entire time wondering what had become of those you cared about. Spock’s hand slid down and Kirk watched, silently wanting nothing more than to offer some semblance of comfort. 

Sulu and Chekov moved off to look through the store houses so Kirk began a walk around the small yard. The door leading up to the church itself was open wide and the statue at the end caught his eye. Jim moved through the opening and down the small aisle. Spying the cushions and mats he wondering just what the heck these people did for service. Though who was he to judge? It had been years since he attended church. Not since boyhood when he’d been forced to go and the priest had made him fearful of brimstone and fire. Not since he’d seen the evils of the world and how some people could turn a blind eye to it. Since then Jim had allowed his beliefs to be his own. He’d never condemn the followers of any religion, though he would question those leaders who made excuses for wicked deeds. His own moral compass was strong and he’d just have to hope that was enough to salvage his soul. 

Kirk wondered about his soul as he moved down to the end of the aisle where the statue of Surak sat, though he didn’t know it by name. He wondered if this deity or saint would offer him any kind of forgiveness for the mistakes he’d made. He thought about asking, but he was struck by how familiar the face was, not so unlike Spock. One hand of the stone figure held a scroll and the other was placed neatly behind his back. It was the same posture the monk had kept, at least when he’d been able to stand up straight on his own. The stone was smoothed where the eyes would be, no detail to this feature, yet his head was tilted as if to be staring down at the person before him. Kirk moved to the exact spot where he would be staring back up at the expressionless face.

“Surak and his doctrine” Spock explained from behind. His presence was a welcome relief to Kirk’s trailing thoughts. 

Jim glanced back to the man who rolled back his shoulders and stiffened his back in the presence of the statue. “You worship him then?”

“Not at all” Spock answered, shaking his head. “He is not to be worshiped, but revered. He taught us the control of our emotions. Set our standards for the way we should live and conduct ourselves, our lives. He took our people during a time of crisis when we were… wild and violent, and taught us how to refrain from our instincts.”

Kirk couldn’t imagine Spock in a ‘wild’ state to save his life. “Instincts…” he gave the other a more serious stare. “I can’t say I agree with you there, Mr. Spock. It was instinct, a gut feeling that brought me here. That made me believe something was wrong at the mission. It was my instinct that brought me to you, told me to come save you…” 

Spock found himself looking over the rugged face of kirk. He felt as he’d known him before, in another life perhaps, if such things were true. Perhaps as a premonition, something that had flitted through his dreams and lived at the back of his mind. “For some…” he hesitated, not normally one to share his inner thoughts so readily. “For some time, I have questioned my living here at the mission. I felt as if… as if I might be meant for another life.” his brow furrowed as he questioned even himself in saying the words.

“I don’t think I understand” Kirk was kind in his tone. He took a step closer to Spock as if he wanted to understand.

Spock might have sighed if it were appropriate to do so. Here in the cathedral he was more rigid in stance, as if trying to match the statue. “I have often wondered if I should leave, keeping my faith of course but testing it somewhere other than the mission. I wonder if perhaps it is more logical to devote myself not to the belief which I hold so strongly but to someone who might help me understand myself better…” He realized this explanation didn’t offer much clarity. 

Jim studied Spock for a moment before he spoke. “This might sound strange, but I do think I know what you mean.” Kirk turned back to the statue, studying the passive face. “I’ve sought… meaning, in a few bodies during my day.” he half chuckled.

Spock raised a brow to the train of thought the other demonstrated. “Bodies?”

“Bodies, Mr. Spock.” his hands gestured emphatically as he spoke, “Love. To care deeply for another, so much that you lose yourself to them. By getting to know them, understanding who you are through their eyes. Perhaps, their image of you is better than the one you hold for yourself. There’s a challenge to live up to those heights while also not realizing you already are, just by being yourself.” he explained. Kirk shook his head just a bit “To a man like you that sounds silly I’m sure.” and after a moment of silence “I can only guess what you think of me...”

“I do not think less of you” The Vulcan man anointed.

“So you won’t judge my confessions?”

For a moment Jim believed he caught Spock rolling his eyes. “Confessions are unnecessary” he toned “We believe in honesty. To be true to one’s self and their nature is the ultimate honesty, James. You need not defend yourself to me.” there was a crinkling at Spock’s eyes as if he might be smiling.

“Jim” he corrected the man. Kirk found it flooring in how much he enjoyed the sight of the almost-smile. “But if that’s true, then… why is it so difficult for you to be true to yourself?”

The weight of his words hit Spock like a ten pound sack. Until that moment he’d not thought about his life or his actions as being this way, a dishonest testimony to who he was as an individual. The insight from the cowboy shook him to his core, releasing the would-be grin from his face. 

Kirk was sorry to see it leave and unconsciously vowed to do whatever it took to see it again “What is it you would confess to?” Kirk asked, taking a step closer.

There was a wave of feeling Spock felt rush over him, something he didn’t quite understand. Perhaps years of suppression had made him unable to define the emotions he kept under tight wraps. His eyes flicked over the mouth who uttered the words. Kirk was standing so close, so near. Oh how simple it would be to reach out and brush fingertips against those lips. 

And perhaps he would have, if it weren’t for the gun fire that came from outside!

\---

Kirk and Spock rushed from the church in time to see a man push past Sulu. The sheriff was knocked hard over the torn up barrels near the south entrance. “One of the outlaws who took my brothers” Spock offered, recognizing the bandit.

Kirk pulled his gun from his side and took aim, but before he could fire Spock grabbed him by the wrist. “Spock?”  
“If you kill him then we may never know where they took them.” 

Kirk nodded and before he knew what was happening Spock gripped his wrist and ushered him quickly through the cathedral. They ducted through an archway and found a passage to their left. There was a long hall, lined with modest bed chambers and at the end a door that led outside. The hand pulling at his wrist was gentle but firm and only released once they were back out in the light.

“There” he indicated to the horse waiting by the tree; the figure was racing towards it. Kirk took off in a mad sprint with Spock following close behind. The bandit was nearly to the animal when he felt the hard body collide with his; Kirk tackled him to the ground in one bounding leap. The two men began to wrestle with each other in the dirt before Kirk locked his arm around his neck. 

Once he began to go limp in his hold Kirk relinquished the tight grip. The bandit gasped for air for only a moment before Jim took him by the collar and pushed him up against the closest tree. “Alright mister, we want answers and you’re not going anywhere until we get them.”

The man was disheveled, his face coated with dirt and an unkept beard. There was a faded scar just under his chin that trailed across his adam's apple. He gave a weak laugh full of menace and in response Jim pulled the gun from his holster. He shoved it against the man’s side, pulling back the hammer which issued the small click, letting the man know he was serious. Though Kirk did not quite touch the trigger lest he forget his manners.

The fiend gave a sneer and practically spat when he spoke “Sorry,” his eyes shifted between the cowboy and the obvious member of the Vulcan order. “I’ve got better chances with your morals than I do with Kor’s temper.” 

Kirk was prepared to manhandle him again but subsided as Spock touched his shoulder. He was tall, dark, and imposing to the bandit, but his gentle soul came through as he asked, somewhat desperately “Where are the others?” his face gave such little emotion but it was all there, just below the surface, the guilt he felt for holding them up on what should have been their escape from the mission. “What have you done with my brothers?”

The man had an almost wicked smile as he relaxed, knowing the monk would never inflict injury. Pacifists, a word so few knew out in these parts. A word that, no matter how long they lived, men like him would never understand. “Don’t you worry, they’re alive… for now.”

Kirk dug the metal deeper into the man’s side. “WHERE?” he demanded.

Only a low laugh came from the outlaw. His eyes flitted over Kirk for a moment, so close he could smell the coffee on his breath from the morning cup. There was just the slightest dilation of his pupils when he recognized who had a hold of him “Tiberius?” he asked. 

A flash ran across Kirk’s face and without warning he dropped the gun and met the bandit with a hard right cross against his cheek; he was on the ground just as Sulu and Chekov arrived. The Sheriff pulled the bandit to his feet while the deputy cuffed him. There were shouted words and questions that wouldn’t be answered as they began their own interrogation. Not that Jim would hear them. He turned to Spock who simply looked at him with a quizzical stare and the cowboy lowered his eyes in shame.


	8. Bar Brawl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon-typical violence. 
> 
> Yay for longer chapters!

The evening light cast a shadow over the town as the group arrived back with the bandit in tow. Enterprise didn’t quite look the same in the afternoon, not to Jim. It had lost some of its welcoming nature; the kind that had invited him here back when Mayor Pike had seen the lone rider and beckoned him to stay for a spell. That was when, all those years ago, he’d fallen in love with this place and its people. Back when Kirk vowed to visit it every chance he got. Back when he still had hope that maybe, one day, he could settle here without ever really intending to settle down. But that dream was long gone as the name ‘Tiberius’ echoed through his mind. 

The sheriff and his deputy moved off to lock up the bandit, the surly figure who’d cussed and fussed all the way along the trail back to town. Kirk and Spock meanwhile went to put away the horses. On the ride coming back Spock had had no qualms about wrapping his arms around Jim, his hands gentle and easy across his stomach as they rode; though the lighthearted exchange of conversation had been forgone in favor of deafening silence.

As Spock guided Sulu’s horse into the stables he chanced to look at Kirk, his eyes displaying the distance of his thoughts as he led the sheriff and deputy’s horses to their stalls. He wanted to offer something, some consolement or wise words, but without knowing what thoughts plagued the cowboy he could do neither. Every bit of the logic within Spock told him it was best to leave him alone, to give him the space he so obviously desired, even if every other impulse he possessed urged him to go to the man’s side, as if he was meant to be there. 

Kirk moved over and took the reins from Spock’s hand, fingers brushing over the monk’s absently in the motion. “I’ll tend to them and meet you inside” he offered, the first words he’d spoken since he’d addressed the bandit. 

Spock obeyed the command for departure. At the stable doors he glanced back just before leaving, some illogical dread pulling at him, telling him this might be the last time he saw this person who, after only one day, had become so significant to him. He watched as Kirk removed the bridle from the beast. His mind was obviously lost in thought. Spock wished to understand that mind and those thoughts, but having no place to ask he slipped out of the stable, leaving Kirk to his devices. 

Kirk tended to the stallions before latching the gate and moving back to his mare. ‘I could run’ he thought to himself, dislodging the saddle from the horse’s back and setting it aside. ‘I could ride out tonight and put miles of distance between myself and this place by morning.’ he continued as he pulled a brush from his discarded bag. ‘Sulu’s busy with the investigation. It might be weeks before he gets word of who I am… or what I’ve done.’ He ran a hand along her neck, just below her mane as the other took the brush and pressed it against her back. 

‘These kind people deserve better than the chaos I’ll bring them.’ he thought, starting to formulate a plan ‘I can stop by my uncle’s house, hide out for awhile, at least I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned him to Bones, but if I have…’ Kirk shook his head as he tried to refocus his thoughts but his thoughts weren’t having it. ‘I’ll cut my hair, grow a beard, something to make me less recognizable. Maybe I’ll look different than what the wanted posters will show. Hopefully Spock won’t give them a more accurate depiction’ the smallest of smiles came to his face as he recalled how specific the monk had been over the poster of Kor. His hand stopped in its place along the horse. “Spock” he breathed.

Kirk put away his bags in the storehouse before moving over to the doorway. He was close enough that he could still see the top of the saloon in the ever dwindling light. McCoy would understand if he took off, he could send a letter once he was further up the road to let him know he was alright. But Spock? “How do you tell someone you found half dead that you’re not gonna see this through?” he wondered aloud. Was it so strange, that after only a day Jim felt closer to him than he did his own brother? ‘If I’m going to leave in the dead of night’ he thought, his boot crunching dirt as he stepped forward along the path ‘I at least owe him an explanation.’ 

Kirk was trying to form the words he would use to explain himself as he pushed apart the saloon doors. With his thoughts set to the task he almost tripped over the half broken chair that lay before the entrance. Kirk’s brow furrowed as he studied it in confusion before looking up at the wreckage that surrounded him.

For a moment he had a sudden flash back to the mission. Instead of chopped up barrels there were overturned tables, smashed bottles with glass glittering the floor, cards strewn about from where they’d gone flying and bullet holes in the wall, though somehow the drunkard Larry still remained sleeping beside the piano, his heaving belly as he breathed along with snoring indicating that he was, in fact, still alive. 

“Bones!” Kirk spied the doctor by the bar “what happened?” 

\---

-Some time earlier-

Christine took a deep breath before she entered the saloon, her eyes darting around until they landed on Uhura’s graceful form as she walked behind the bar. It was a slow afternoon, the miners having left and the deck of cards from the poker players sat neatly stacked from where the game had ended. Only the drunkard and McCoy were here now, along with Rand who busied herself wiping down tables. The good doctor was sipping coffee while he read the local newspaper. Christine noted that it would be nice not to have the distraction of so many patrons as she attempted the conversation again. Though she was wary that McCoy might take exception to her trying to convince Uhura to give up her life as a saloon girl. 

Uhura smiled as Christine moved closer, sending the woman’s heart to pitter patter faster as she came to stand next to the stools. “Hello, Nyota” she started.

The dark haired beauty behind the bar had expected the blond to come back around. After seeing her walk down the street with Marla, arm in arm and speaking so freely, it was inevitable she’d return. That woman had it out for the saloon as well as its patrons and workers. Uhura just wished she didn’t use Christine as some kind of pawn, knowing about their friendship. It was manipulative and frankly it said a lot about the preacher’s wife. “What can I get you, sugar?” she asked sweetly, despite knowing where the conversation would go. 

Chapel’s face fell hearing her called by the pet name rather than her real one. “I suppose a sasparilla?” she asked, hiking her leg to get up and on to the stool. It was hardly lady like but she managed to cross her legs once perched to make up for the crude motion. 

Uhura busied herself to find a clean cup, or at least something cleaner than what she gave the usual liquor drinking crowd. She poured the dark syrupy soda. Nimble fingers slid the drink across the counter to her customer and Uhura waited patiently for Chapel to indulge. 

For once Christine had a true expression of joy as she sipped the concoction, her mind recalling a time from her youth when she’d swigged the flavorful beverage whilst sitting next to her brothers in the parlor back east. The little place filled with colorful candy and distractions, though her mother didn’t permit her to go as often as the boys. Her brothers had been “rambunctious, lively, and boisterous” and “needed” to go out and play, to be wild. All the while Christine had been kept at home, doing ladylike activities such as sewing. However, on rare (very rare) occasions she was permitted to go with them and do all the little things that they did; drink sarsaparilla, play jax, bob and weave through the streets whilst getting her dress dirty. Those were the best of times with her family. Far from her mother’s watchful eye, when she could just be free. 

“Back in Milwaukee?” Nyota asked knowingly. 

Christine’s smile broadened “Guess I told you about that?” she asked sheepishly. 

Uhura leaned up against the bar, resting her elbows on the counter and her face nestled into her hand as she gazed upwardly to the woman “About how you’d sneak out with the boys to get a little taste of freedom?” 

“You make it sound like I was raised in a convent.” 

“If your mother had had her way you’d be in one right now rather than out here teaching.” Nyota added. 

From this angle Christine could swear her eyes looked larger, the specs of gold within them shined with the midday sun that poured in through the windows and reflected through every bottle. It caused a kind of sparkle to form around the bartender, though maybe that was more the schoolmarm’s own biased vision than anything real. All Chapel could do was stare, completely lost to the vision. 

“You wanted to talk?” Uhura asked, still wearing her grin and ready to dance the little dance they did so often.

“Well… I um…” 

It was exactly what she’d expected. “Let me help” Uhura said, rising up. “You’re about to ask if I’m satisfied with my current position here at the saloon.” There was a crinkling of the paper as McCoy turned a page and both women were certain he’d started to listen in. “then you’ll ask how I feel about my soul and my place in the afterlife, right?” Christine’s face was beginning to redden as the bartender repeated back the same old conversation they’d had before. “Then you’ll ask if I want to attend church with you on Sunday, and you’ll go on and on about Marla and how wonderful her husband’s sermons are.” 

“I, well…” Christine couldn’t keep her gaze. She looked down at her hands, wringing them as she always did when she got uncomfortable. But Uhura wasn’t having it today; she reached out and cupped them both within her own, fingers stretched out and over the woman’s wrists, a series of goosebumps trailing up her arm in response, though neither acknowledged it. 

“Christine” Nyota said softly “I’ll tell you again, as I always do, that I’m satisfied in my work. I’m comfortable with where my soul is headed, because nowhere can be as bad for me as Georgia was” she didn’t feel the need to reiterate how much she would never go back there. “I’ll also tell you I’m happy to be your friend.” she stated, preferring to think of the positives. “And” her smile widened “If you’d ever like to skip church one Sunday and have a picnic with me, well, I think the lord can forgive you for one day.” her hands squeezed against the back of Christine’s, unbeknownst to Uhura sending a flutter through the woman’s heart. 

Christine met her gaze, blue eyes meeting brown ones before the intensity of the stare was just too much for her. She felt like a young girl again with the way she turned her head to the side bashfully. “Well, I suppose that-” her eyes glanced out the window and a group of riders caught her attention...

Five of them in total on large horses rode their way up the street. Something about them screamed trouble as one of them spit out his tobacco and another patted the pistol at his side when a couple of teenagers gave him a dirty look. Their presence as they came nearer exuded strength, as if a group of warriors were heading into battle. 

Uhura turned to see them as well. “Doctor” she half gasped as they got closer and a face she had only ever seen on a wanted poster moved into view. “Isn’t that… Kor?”

McCoy put down his paper and moved over to the woman, Christine coming down from her seat as he did. All three stared out the window as they watched the five men dismounted their horses. One of them set to work, tying all to the post out front as the other four strode directly into the saloon. 

Kor was a man of tanned and leathery skin, the hair of his head jet black and matched by his mustache and beard. There was a menacing twinkle in his eye as he gazed around the room, eventually landing on the group of three as they peered back, one in confusion, one in fear, and one in defiance. He sneered before making his way over to a table, heavy boots thundering against the floor as he walked before the screeching of the chair came when he pulled it out and sat down. The gunmen beside him did the same. 

It was eerily quiet for a moment as the two groups remained silent. Kor raised his hand and with a flick of his fingers he snapped,not even bothering to look over as he barked the order to Uhura. “Bartender, whiskey.” 

McCoy practically had to hold Nyota back as he rounded himself behind the bar, her fury at being addressed in such a way vivid in her expression. She’d never taken kindly to being snapped at for attention. “Easy” the good doctor said, gently holding her by the arms as she fumed in the bandit’s direction. He almost whispered to the other side of her head “best thing to do is get them in and out as quickly as possible or just keep them calm until the Sheriff gets back.” he stated sagely. His voice lowered even more “I want you back here. I trust you more than me with the shotgun.” It was true, but he also wanted her as far from these men as possible. 

McCoy pushed past Uhura and grabbed the whiskey from one of the shelves, not even noting which brand it was or how much it cost. He was betting these hooligans didn’t care for the specifics of their drink just as long as it did them the good it was supposed to. Able to hold four glasses between fingers in one hand and one in the other along with the bottle, McCoy brought the libations over to the group. 

The cups clinked before he plopped down the bottle without saying a word and turned, risking his back to them as the women looked on. McCoy only got one step away before the throaty voice of Kor came to his ear. “Not going to pour it for your patrons?” He chided. 

There had been plenty of times in McCoy’s life when he’d let his anger get the better of him. Most of them had been when he was young and foolish. More often than not, like that time down in Tijuana, he ended up regretting his decisions. So, unlike other men who couldn’t stand to eat crow, McCoy wasn’t one to start a fight unncessarily, especially not if it kept his people safe. 

With a slight effort the saloon owner turned back around, feigning a smile as he reached for the bottle. The cork dislodged easily from the neck and icy blue eyes stared into Kor’s, who sat back with a smug look as McCoy poured until the glass was half full. He sat the bottle back down and offered the cup to the ‘gentleman’ buyer. 

Tensions were high as the bandit reached out. With a small nod of his head he took the cup, raising the glass in way of thanks. He was smiling as he tossed it back, instantly draining the glass with one go. He slammed his hand onto the table, causing it to shake. “Another!” he demanded with a rueful grin.

McCoy looked from Kor to his men and back. “I think you’re more than capable of pouring it yourself.” he said, not wanting to play their games. 

Kor’s smile displayed a blackened tooth as he stretched out his mouth. He rose to his feet, inching closer to Bones. He had some height on the doctor, his frame wider and shoulders broader, but McCoy didn’t flinch as the rancid breath hit his face when the outlaw spoke. He’d smelled worse; after all, he was the town’s only dentist. “Do you know who I am?” Kor asked with a threatening tone. 

McCoy crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly. “I do. You’re the ‘Klingon’ gang. You’re wanted in at least half a dozen states for bank robery, arson, and murder.”

Kor’s eyes flicked over the doctor, taking him in with a slow and surveying gaze, sizing him up. He nodded “You’d do well to remember that last one.” 

But clearly he didn’t know the type of man he was dealing with; one who had seen his fair share of death and could hardly turn a blind eye to the suffering of others. McCoy was nothing if not capable of staring down the grim reaper. “If you plan to kill me, I’d suggest you do it sooner rather than later. If your intention is to have me standing here shaking in my boots I’m sorry to say you’ll be awfully disappointed.” 

To his surprise, Kor only smiled at his response. Then, he laughed a small chuckle that quickly turned into a loud roar that was echoed by the men at the table. It was deep and hearty, ringing with an air of menace. It only stopped when the hard backhand came across McCoy’s face, sending him flying across the room. 

Christine stifled a scream as the doctor hit the ground before her feet. Uhura darted under the bar and grabbed the shotgun from beneath, tossing it up as she came back into view and taking aim at the gunmen. Each one was ready with the pistol pulled from his belt. All but Kor, who sauntered over to his victim. Christine was by his side, trying to help him up, but McCoy pushed her away as Kor brought his foot up and pinned the doctor against the floor, holding him at the chest. 

The pressure to his ribs caused his breath to catch. Bones pushed at the toe and heel to alleviate it as much as he could to allow him the ability to breathe. “What do you want!” He demanded beneath the boot, knowing if the bandit had wanted to he would have killed him already. Clearly, he was after something else. 

Christine found her footing, gripping the edge of the bar as she stood, the barrell to the rifle Uhura held only inches from her face. She could see the blackened tooth as Kor spoke. “I want… the Vulcan!” he hissed, pressing down with his heel and shifting his weight to be more pronounced on the doctor’s chest. Bones was gasping, squirming under the hold. Kor leaned in, pressing down as if he might crack the man’s sternum and pulling back just enough to let him speak. “Where is the monk?” he sneered. 

McCoy might have been in pain, but he wasn’t about to talk. Kor leaned in again with gusto, the vindictive smile crossing his face as he played like a cat with a mouse. “Where?” he demanded. Uhura couldn’t just shoot him, knowing that the others would open fire. 

Christine had always been raised to be a good girl, a proper lady with dignity and grace. But she knew one shot was all it would take to start a blood bath. She imagined Uhura, bleeding on the floor. She imagined the doctor, the only one who could save her, unresponsive. She hated this feeling, this helplessness. Chapel watched as the villain of a man observed his victim with glee. She didn’t know what came over her. Christine reached up, grabbed the rifle by the barrel. She yanked it from Nyota’s hold and brandished it across Kor’s face in one swift motion. 

The fight was on! 

Kor flew backwards, knocking one of his men out of the window. He careened into the rest, the group of four smashing against the table. The cards went flying and the bottle McCoy had brought over smashed to the floor with a flourish. It gave Uhura an idea. 

As one of the gang members sprang up and reached for his gun he was pelted with a bottle of liquor. Missing the target that was his head, the heavy jar knocked his shoulder, preventing him from aiming his gun. He only had two seconds to recover before the second bottle smacked against his stomach and finally he looked up just in time to see the third as it landed squarely between his eyes. He flopped to the floor, dumbfounded. 

McCoy was on his feet, launching himself forward to the closest man and letting loose a volley of jabs and thrusts. “I’m a healer, not a brawler!” he belted “But I’ve never turned down a job in this town.” He gave a strong left hook to the bandit’s nose, sending the man sprawling out the door. There was some more scuffling as Bones pursued and eventually knocked him for a loop and over into the water trough with a splash. 

Inside, Kor’s gunman fired a round, hitting the line of liquor over Uhura’s head. She called out as the glass shattered around her and Christine took aim with the shotgun in response. She fired! There was a grouping of small pellet holes in the wall dead center between Kor and the other bandit. She’d missed. The leader of the gang took aim at the woman before he was sacked by the good doctor. His gun went flying across the floor as the two wrestled on the ground. 

Uhura lobbed another bottle at the last outlaw, hitting him square on the arm and causing him to drop his weapon. He turned to the women, eyes red with rage, and sprinted forward. Chapel tried to fire, but to her dismay the gun had not been fully loaded,a simple click issuing instead of a boom. The man nearly on top of her, Christine instinctively dropped. Between the full run and the angle of the barrel, the bandit pole vaulted across the counter and crashed into the shelves. 

Slipping on the spilled whiskey, Kor had lost the upper hand to McCoy, who forced them both out and into the street. A good crowd of onlookers had shown up, what with all the ruckus. Bones pushed Kor away and down the steps. Kor jumped to his feet, fists at the ready to attack when one of his men, sopping wet from his time in the trough, grabbed his arm. It was only then he realized that some of the townsfolk were armed, keeping them from making any rash decision. 

Kor shook off the hold, eyes darting back and forth. He reached up and rubbed his face, realizing that the doctor had actually drawn blood. His lip was already swelling. He could only watch as the two women, though small in size, managed to hurl the other two out, Chapel swinging the rifle like a sword and Uhura with a half broken bottle in her grip, ready to cut someone if they dared to try her. 

“I have to hand it to you” Kor said with just a hint of a smile “you put up a good fight.” 

Bones heaved from windedness “I think we’re done here.” 

A few of the braver men, armed and ready for a fight, were closing in.“Yes” Kor said while nodding “But only for now.” There was a flicker of cruel intent written on his face “You tell that monk he can meet us out in Risa’s gulf. We’d be more than happy to reunite him with his brothers, or… I’ll come back with my full gang and we’ll destroy this town of yours!” 

Two of the gang members were placing the unconscious one across his horse, the other unlashing their reins. All mounted before Kor turned away from his would-be victims, steady and without fear of their reprisal. Once seated in his saddle he looked to the group of townsfolk who stood by. “Is that what you want?” Kor shouted “You willing to let your town burn, your people die, all for the sake of a stranger? Someone who doesn’t even belong here!” He paused for a moment, looking them over, watching as his words translated in their minds before kicking his horse and ushering the group away from the saloon with a “hya!” 

\---

Kirk surveyed the carnage. Uhura’s dress was torn at the hip from where she’d snagged it on a nail while patching up the broken window with boards. Chapel’s hair was strewn about, pulling away from the bobby pins that normally kept it tucked and proper. She’d stayed to lend a hand. Janice was busy sweeping up the broken bits of glass. Then there was McCoy, sitting at the bar with a cool cloth pressed to his cheek from where he’d been struck, a glass in front of him. The doctor poured himself a drink from one of the bottles that had survived the attack. Spock was standing next to him, the concern written across his furrowed brow as he turned, hearing Jim’s question. 

“Bones!” Kirk rushed over. A quick visual inspection of the man took place as he held him by the shoulder. 

“I’m alright, Jim. Just wish I could say the same for my inventory.” McCoy tried to be lighthearted. 

“What happened?” Kirk repeated his question.

“It would appear that Kor’s gang arrived only an hour after we had left for the mission.” Spock informed.

Kirk took another look around the room at the heavy destruction that had taken place. “Was anyone hurt?” 

“Not in any way I can’t fix.” McCoy said, pulling the cloth away from his face. A bruise was starting to form along his cheek just under his eye. 

The clink of Sulu’s spurs preceded him as he made his way over to the three men. Once the bandit had been properly secured, someone had come into the jail and informed the sheriff of what had happened. He’d rushed over immediately. “Uhura says there were five of them. If I’d been here…” he shook his head “we could have taken them.” 

A quick glance at Spock and Jim could almost read his thoughts, his guilt (if it weren’t an emotional response scorned by his order) taking hold that it was because of him that they’d gone and left the town defenseless. 

McCoy must have sensed it too “I think we did pretty damn well for ourselves, Sheriff.” He took a shot of his drink, feigning some form of offense to the sheriff’s statement.  
“Why would they come here?” Kirk asked adamantly. “Why do this?” he gestured.

Chekov was squatting down, helping pick up the larger chunks of glass. The window was fully boarded as Uhura nailed in the last piece. A few other townspeople had filed in after the sheriff and took to helping with the clean up. The group was silent for a moment as they watched the working hands, all avoiding the question Kirk had asked. Each of them knowing exactly _why_. 

“Is it not obvious?” Spock suggested, “They were looking for me.”

“For you?” Kirk said softly. 

McCoy poured himself another whiskey. “It’s true, Jim… They even left a message. The monk can hand himself over or they’ll come back to destroy Enterprise...”

Jim didn’t need to consider the offer. Even if they did give Spock over, there was no telling if they’d honor the agreement, and it didn’t matter. He had no intentions of giving in to their demands. “How many?” Kirk asked hurriedly, already formulating a plan. 

Sulu crossed his arms “Between what Spock said about the attack on the mission and how the bandit we just put behind bars was bragging” he toned “too many.” He rubbed his chin in thought “I could go get the marshals. Problem is, I’d have to leave to do it and, all things considered, I don’t think that’s the best idea.” 

Spock was keeping his composure quite well given the circumstances. Hands behind his back and his chin still up, though his eyes remained down cast as he himself puzzled over their options. There weren’t many. “It would seem that the only logical option would be for me to-” 

“If you finish that sentence I’ll give you a wallop.” Kirk said suddenly, cutting him off. The air between the cowboy and the monk changed as they locked eyes. One defiant and ready to fight, the other humble and without fear of death. Whatever Kirk’s plans had been to leave that night were gone now. He knew leaving would mean Spock handing himself over to Kor and there was no telling what would happen to him after that. Jim didn’t want to imagine, much less do anything to allow it. 

McCoy hopped down from his seat, ready to intervene “Now let’s not make any hasty decisions.” he offered. He grabbed his whiskey, watching as Chapel, Uhura, Chekov, and Rand sat down. “We’ve all had a long day. We’re a little out of sorts, best thing to do in these situations is simple…” 

“And what would that be, Doctor?” Spock asked curiously. 

McCoy took another sip of his drink and joined the little group at the table. “We sleep on it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only One Bed is next, hope I do it justice!


	9. Starless Night

It’s strange how a space can feel larger in the light of day and smaller by the dark of night. Not that the room had been particularly large to begin with. The oil lamp on the dresser gave just enough glow so the men could see while the evening moon, which would have shone through the window, was blocked by the wall of the saloon. It stood only a few feet away from the Inn and kept Kirk from gazing fondly up at the night sky, full of stars that were so out of reach yet so tempting to reach for. Instead of allowing his mind to ponder the mysteries of the universe, Jim sat on the bed, removing the boots from his feet as Spock shut the door behind him. They were now alone but not a word was spoken between them. 

Kirk wondered if he had been too harsh in scolding the Vulcan man. His offer of sacrifice, while noble, had struck a nerve. In that instant at the bar he’d felt a longing to protect Spock. He recalled the bloody and beaten form he’d found at the mission and how he couldn’t stand the idea that it might be that way again. There was a kindness to Spock, a gentleness, and of all the crimes Jim was guilty of, the world deserved a bit of purity. It didn’t deserve to be extinguished, and certainly not by the likes of the Klingon gang.

Unbeknownst to Jim, Spock was concerned he’d angered the cowboy with (what he considered to be) his very logical suggestion. Turning himself in would keep those men from coming back. Spock wondered how his coming here had affected the people, how it had threatened them, it was, after all, just his one life. How could it be worth the sacrifice of so many? 

Neither dared voice the questions plaguing them. The monk merely turned his back to the other and began unbuttoning his shirt, readying himself for sleep. Within the mission the brothers had had to change quite frequently in front of one another. So despite his modesty, Spock felt no shame (that being an emotion after all, the order not believing in those) and removed the top he’d been gifted with earlier that day. It was a new sensation however, to feel the eyes on his body as the button-up fell from his shoulders to his waist. 

Jim hadn’t intended to stare. He rubbed idly along the pads of his feet once free from their leathery prisons. He turned his face up just in time to see the plaid fabric drop away. He watched, in that way people do when they aren’t thinking, when something catches their eye and they find themselves staring. When Spock pulled his undershirt up and over his head Kirk felt his mind run blank at the exposing of the man’s muscular back. He hadn’t expected that. 

And Jim certainly didn’t mean to leer, eyes taking in smooth skin, watching the shoulder blades flex as Spock began to patiently fold the clothing in front of him. The muscles moved in a very deliberate and practiced way. To reach out a hand and feel them move beneath his touch, well, that was something he didn’t need to think about at a time like this.

In addition to the bruises Spock sustained from his beating, there were a few scars from days gone by, faded and worn across his back. No man who lived out west could claim less; the toll for a rough life often meant a hardened body. Kirk wondered how the monk had come by such strength, his upper arms clearly more robust than his own; Spock certainly hadn’t earned them through prayer. 

Spock turned half way around to catch the eyes which roamed over his physique. Nonplussed, Jim simply held his gaze. For a moment the two of them were still, allowing unspoken thoughts to pass through their minds rather than be uttered between them. There were simply no words Spock had in the gratitude he felt for the cowboy who’d saved his life, who was willing to help find his brothers, helping him in his hour of crisis when he needed it the most. _Need_ was such a funny sort of creature. It was often his _needs_ that caused Spock to question his station, his position inside the order. The _need_ to explore, the _need_ to learn, the _need_ to reach out to another. As he looked at Jim he tried to suppress the rise of such an emotion, the swell of it coming on suddenly as he looked into those hazel eyes. Never before had he felt the sensation so strongly. The _need_ to feel connected to someone… Spock silently vowed to endure it without action. 

Jim glanced down to the chest, thick with hair, which concealed even more defined muscles beneath. In the dim light he could have sworn he saw the vaguest color change in the man’s cheeks, as if he were blushing. Kirk felt ashamed for causing him discomfort. The cowboy was so used to sizing people up he’d forgotten just who exactly he was sizing. “Forgive me” he said softly “I just didn’t expect a man of the cloth to be so…” his voice trailed off as he searched for the right words. “If it weren’t for being outnumbered I’d think you could have taken a bandit or two, Mr. Spock.” he offered in way of compliment. 

The tension between them dispersed and there was the barest creasing in the corner of Spock’s lips. He tilted his head in a nod. “We grow our own crops, till the land. We haul water from a distant well. Every day there are chores to be done and we do them with conviction. It is a simple life, but it has its advantages; it lends us strength, though we do not believe in violence.”

Jim considered the gentle soul before him, “No, I suppose you wouldn’t.” He rose suddenly and moved towards the taller man. Close enough, standing only two feet away he could feel an electricity between them. He reached out, his hands and fingers hovered above Spock’s arm, so close to the skin but not touching. “We should take care of that,” Jim suggested, indicating the bandages that hadn’t been changed since that morning when McCoy had tended to him. 

Spock fought back a gulp at Jim’s proximity to him and gave a simple nod before brushing past Jim to go wait in the chair. It was his turn to watch as Kirk moved about the room, grabbing the medical supplies the doctor had been so kind to provide and joining him. Jim knelt before Spock and reached up to unwind the soiled linen. His touch was soft and caring as the bindings came undone, nimble fingers making quick work of the task. 

Spock could only stare at the concentrated yet compassionate face as Jim thoughtfully cleaned the area. If the alcohol burned as it was applied, the monk gave no indication in his expression. Jim shuffled nearer, hand reaching up to wipe the cloth across the wound and his palm grazed against flesh in the movement. Spock shuddered. 

As Jim apologized, Spock had to wonder about this man who treated him with such care and tenderness. He barely knew him, and if the monk found him compassionate it was in stark contrast to the way he’d behaved at the mission when they’d caught the bandit. It had seemed so out of his character to strike the man hard across the face at the mere mention of a name. The violence had appeared so unprompted. The anger behind his eyes had been so out of place. Spock wanted to understand it. 

“Tiberius?” he asked calmly. 

Jim was focusing on the bandages, trying to make the bindings tight but not too tight beneath the lax muscle. He took special consideration in this act and paused only to flinch at the sound of the name being used a second time today. “My middle name.” he answered as he tucked the end of the cloth to fasten it into place. “It’s what I went by, what I used to be known as when I lived further south, when… when I lived a different sort of life.”

Kirk’s mind drifted, leaving the room of the inn and traveling back to another time and place. But Spock wanted to keep him here, keep the man beside him in mind as well as in body. “Forgive my presumptuousness, but I noticed you were on edge when we first visited the jail. I also noticed you did not correct the sheriff when he assumed you were a bounty hunter.” Spock noted.

Kirk gave a slight smile. He had to hand it to Spock, he might not have been adept at showing emotions but he was certainly good at reading them, or at the very least, good at reading him. “Can’t pull the wool over your eyes, I suppose.” 

Spock didn’t respond. 

“It’s complicated,” Jim conceded, and maybe it was a sign of good faith that Spock hadn’t brought it up until now. He’d waited until they were alone and maybe, just maybe, that meant there was trust between them. 

Spock stared down into the softness of Kirk’s face “Much of life is complicated.” he offered. 

“Vulcan wisdom?” he teased, though he didn’t move from his position on the floor as he packed up the little kit of gauze and medicine. “I got into some trouble,” he confessed. “Made a bad reputation for myself. I guess if you want to judge me for it you wouldn’t be the first.” 

Spock had the distinct urge to place a hand on Jim, to offer him comfort in a physical way. He kept his hands laced together in his lap, not daring to reach. “To judge you more based on things I do not know, rather than on the actions you’ve shown me during our time together...that would be illogical, James-” 

Kirk glanced up, mouth parted and ready to correct him. 

“Jim” Spock corrected before the other had time to do so. “If I am to judge you, please know, my verdict is one of respect.” 

This brought a larger smile to Kirk’s face, his shoulders lowered away from his ears and his arms losing the tension they’d been holding. As Spock’s mind began to imagine rubbing the tension from those shoulders, Jim rose from his place on the floor. “We should get some sleep.” the cowboy offered. 

Jim moved away to remove his own clothing, giving Spock space to finish with his nightly routine. The jeans Jim wore were traded for a pair of loose fitting sleep pants and the monk took a few moments to meditate in the chair, forcing his eyes to remain closed to give the other his privacy. Not that he wasn’t tempted to open them and spy on the bare form just as he had been observed. 

Kirk tried not to disturb him as he settled into the bed, the frame of which was pressed up into the corner of the room, meaning that if the cowboy awoke before the monk he would have to climb over him to get out. Jim nestled in, laying on his back and resting his hands under his head as he stared up to the ceiling. It was hardly a night sky full of stars but he knew they were there, just beyond the wooden beams, and if he concentrated enough he believed himself able to picture them just as they were above him. 

Spock turned the knob of the oil lamp to extinguish the flame before joining him. He tried not to pay much attention to the half naked form already there as he peeled back the blankets and found the soft space next to Kirk. It was so strange, he’d been here only hours ago, yet it felt like an entirely different world with someone laying next to him. As if the sheets were now somehow forbidden and the proximity to the other made his heart race. They weren’t quite touching, but side by side the body heat of one radiated to the other. Spock also laid on his back with his face turned up towards the ceiling, his hands resting on his stomach as he felt more awake and alert now than when he’d gotten up that morning. Though he wasn’t completely sure why. It could have been the threat of Kor echoing in his head, it could have been the absence of his brothers safe at the mission, or it could have been the presence of the man next to him who caused him more effort in resistance of emotion. 

There was a long period of quiet as they both continued to stay still in the gloom. Neither of them really appeared to be ready for sleep, their breathing having not slowed and Spock’s heart thumping rapidly in his ears. He could have sworn he heard Jim’s pick up as well. 

“When we were at the mission, you said you felt like you didn’t belong there?” Kirk asked in the darkness. 

“I did,” Spock confirmed. 

“Was it because you felt lonely?” Jim pressed. 

“I was never ‘lonely’ to speak of.” He claimed “I always had my brothers.”

“But you didn’t have…” Kirk paused as he tried to find the right words “female companionship?” he asked pointedly. 

Spock cleared his throat, not entirely sure what Jim was asking. “Do not be fooled by their title. Though they are my ‘brothers’, many of them are women.” he clarified.

“Oh?” came the simple reply of Kirk “ but you didn’t…” again he was at a loss to make his meaning clear. “treat them like women?” he coaxed. “At least not the way most men around here would treat a woman? Not in the traditional sense” He felt his words were even more confusing as they exited his mouth. 

Spock, on the other hand, felt a flash of understanding “Not in the way you suggest.”

“I see…” and from there Jim wasn’t sure what to say, or even why he had asked. Was it really any of his business if Spock had known that type of… companionship? 

Another silence overtook them as the stillness of the evening set into place. The awkwardness of the moment passed. Spock could hear Jim’s breathing as it began to slow. It was nice to have someone so close, so near he could reach out and hold him if he so desired. Not that Spock would desire such a thing. It was beyond him as a member of his order. It was beyond his nature as a monk to want that type of touch, that closeness. He ignored the stirring within him as he told himself these lies. The easy breath of the man next to him found a way to slow his own. Spock found sleep, feeling safe and welcomed in his company. 

\---

Spock’s dreams were a mix of chaos and the familiar. He saw the statue of Surak in the chapel as it melted away into a river of gold that nearly drowned him, sweeping him out and into the courtyard. He saw the bandits there as they struck him, as he refused to fight back they laughed and lashed him to the post. He saw his brothers shaking their heads at him as if he brought some great disrespect to them before they moved away into the blackness of the hills beyond his sight. And just when the monk thought he couldn’t take the dreaded imagery any more, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see the angelic face of one who didn’t offer judgement, but pulled him away from the swirling confusion of lights and colors. Alone on a rock with a river rushing past on all sides, he stood next to Kirk, still holding his hand, and the cowboy smiled sweetly. 

\---

Spock was roused by the weight across his lap and the pining of his arm. Opening his eyes, he was greeted with the face of the dream. A moment's hesitation before the smile spread just as it had done so in his mind. The hazel eyes looking down and into his own. 

“Sorry, Mr. Spock” Jim offered. He was half straddling Spock’s waist and his hands were on either side of Spock’s head as he balanced to climb across him. The mattress creaking beneath them. “Just thought I’d get us some coffee.” Jim offered though he remained halted above the other man. 

They were mere inches away and Spock knew if he took a deeper, fuller breath their chests would meet. He refrained of course and simply shook his head slightly. “There is no need to apologize” he stated. The bed placement and size of the room had meant this might happen, after all.

They were still for a while longer, Kirk looking down at him. Was it Spock’s imagination or did Jim’s gaze linger over his lips for just a fraction of a second longer than they needed to? Was it just his imagination or did he lean in just a bit closer, feeling his breath stronger against his cheek as he did? And was it just a whim that made him think that Kirk was allowing his eyes to close as he came all the nearer...?

There was a knock at the door.

“Jim, you decent?” Bones asked and Kirk nearly fell out of the bed as he fumbled off the side before finding his feet. The voice just behind the barrier gruffed “Look who I’m asking.”

“We’ll be right there, Bones.” Kirk said, clearing his throat.

There was no mistaking the look on Jim’s face as it flushed red and looked back at Spock. Maybe he had been imagining it, but the feeling that had caused the image was true enough. He felt his heart flutter as Kirk moved away and began to get dressed.

“Sulu wants us to see him off,” Bones said. It was clear from the creak of the door that he was leaning against it now.

“See him off?” Kirk asked.

“Looks like he’s planning to go round up the Marshalls himself, get a posse together. Says he can’t have thugs like that raiding his town and it’s not like he and the doe eyed kid can manage them alone.”

Spock rendered himself from the blankets and made himself busy as well, taking the clothing again that he’d been given and dressing. He kept his back to Jim as he did so, yet he felt a heat pass over him several times as he wondered if the other man was looking. Even more heat as he wondered if he should check to see for himself.

“What if they come back?” Kirk asked, fighting the urge to check on Spock over his shoulder. “Who’s going to look after everyone if the sheriff is out of town?”

“Funny, I asked him the same thing.” Bones took a sip of something out in the hall. They both hoped it was coffee and not booze. It was just far too early in the morning for that. “Turns out he has someone in mind for the job.”

Once Jim got his arms through his shirt he checked on the other. Spock at least had pants on. He reached for the door and found the smiling face of the doctor. Bones carried a pot of coffee in one hand and three cups in the other, one of which was half full, or half empty since he’d been sipping it. The empty two dangling from his fingers. He pushed them into Kirk’s exposed chest. “Who’s he got in mind?” Jim asked as a satisfied grin spread over McCoy.

“Why you, of course.”

Kirk didn’t register that he took hold of the cups, “Me?!” he asked bewildered. 

“That’s right, now come on, lets get some caffeine in you. We’ve got a train to catch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Temporary Hiatus: (5/25) As of June 1st my quarantine ends and I will be returning to work. My goal is to utilize the next week to finish as much of my rough draft as possible. Once that is done I will be back to editing and posting on a regular basis. I hope you are all doing well and keeping healthy. 
> 
> Much Love,  
> Norsy


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